Just Like Baby Powder
by shi-chan
Summary: YamaGoku Gokudera took pride in his hygiene. He just wasn't expecting one particular athelete to be the same. He wasn't expecting the sheer innocence of it even.


Written aaaaages ago. I sorta' even forgot how this was supposed to end.

Oh well. Enjoy.

I do not own Gokudera or Yamamoto. Hnn.

**JUST LIKE BABY POWDER**

One of the things Gokudera took pride in the most after his dynamite-talent is his personal hygiene. He was raised well by his parents where his mother taught him how to take care of himself especially since he was a boy and that people appreciated other people who looked appropriate, clean and smelled good. He was always there to witness people older than him take pride in how they looked what with their sleek well cared for hair, freshly pressed expensive suit, clean and manicured fingernails and the air of expensive cologne wafting around them when they walked.

The biggest example in his life would be Shamal himself. The man was the epitome of hygiene and class and probably the only person who could make bed-hair look good back in his younger days. Gokudera always thought that because Shamal was a doctor he would also smell like one. He was proved wrong because just by standing next to Shamal, Gokudera could literally smell the expensive perfume and the underlying scent of citrus soap that Shamal used often.

Another example in his life would be no other than Bianchi herself. Gokudera often wondered how she didn't smell like those horrid ingredients she put in to her poison-cooking because he knew that her ingredients varried from decaying animals to the foulest and slimiest worms nature could provide. Yet despite all that, Bianchi always had clean-looking nails, her hair smelled of that expensive imported shampoo she used all the time (this was as far as his memory could take him before she started terrorizing him with her poison-cookies) along with that fruity body lotion he once stole a look at just to piss her off back when he was snotty nosed-brat. To this day, he can still smell her perfume that reminded him of morning-dews in early spring.

When two of the biggest influences in his life smelled and looked good (though he stopped looking at Bianchi much simply because his face would be kissing the floor from the horrid stomach ache he experienced when she was around), he made sure to put in great effort to be just like them. When he claimed that he wanted to be just like Shamal, he meant it in every aspect; from being an awesome and fearsome hitman and member of the mafia to the sleek clean and good looking gentleman that he was (minus the perversion and skirt-chasing mannerisms of course). Although as time went by, his way of seeing Shamal dropped several points and is reaching the negative-values level, but that was beside the point.

Dynamites were his forte and as such, he took extra care in not smelling like gunpowder. A professional hitman would always hide any traces of pretty much being a hitman itself. Gokudera was a very firm believer of that.

Which was why come one autumn afternoon, he found himself browsing through the toiletry section of one of the biggest department stores in the prefecture, plastic basket in his hand and debating whether he should try the new anti-bacterial morning breeze soap scent or simply stick to the cool-mint scent that he frequently used. He was in the process of doing a mental janken to make up his mind when a familiar sheepish laugh echoed down the quiet toiletry isle and an equally familiar sight of dark hair entered his field of vision.

The scowl came on reflex.

Said scowl morphed to a blink when the tall teen - that insufferable baseball idiot! - picked up a bottle of baby shampoo.

Either he was really staring hard in bewilderment that he forgot or Yamamoto was really an idiot because Gokudera could have sworn he turned his back already before the athelete spotted him.

"Oh, Gokudera!" Yamamoto called out, sneakers squeaking against the department store's linoleum floors. "Whatcha' doing?"

The scowl deepened and Gokudera turned irritated green eyes at the idiot who was right next to him ... and caught a whiff of the athlete's scent. A quick glance at the basket Yamamoto was carrying confirmed it.

"What does it look like baseball-idiot? Dining?" Gokudera's lips twisted in to something between a scowl and amusement. He was not expecting the contents of Yamamoto's basket.

Baby shampoo, sunscreen, baby oil, baby soap, baby powder - did the guy have a secret child somewhere that the Vongola wasn't aware of?

"Ehhh, so you shop for toiletries too, huh?"

Gokudera failed to see what was so amusing that Yamamoto would grin. Was there something odd about him buy toiletries? Didn't everyone buy toiletries? Sure it was almost a rather feminine thing to do, but what, was it against Japanese male culture now?

"Hnn. What, you thought I'd walk around smelling like a gym bag? Of course I do!" He shot back, ruffled.

"Hmmm, that's true. Gokudera always smells good anyway."

The smile was_ blinding._

Gokudera _flushed._

"I-Idiot! You go around smelling people? Stupid baseball-_idiot_!" Gokudera found himself helplessly flailing.

Yamamoto laughed, like he always did, the toothy smile not waning. "You're a funny guy, Gokudera."

Perhaps on normal days - when he wasn't so flustered or his face was as bright as his own dying-will flame - the glare and the scowl would have had some sort of effect. It was at that point did Gokudera's brain point out to him that none of his glares worked on Yamamoto and that he was some sort of unfeeling bull. Totally oblivious.

"What's so funny? Huh?" Gokudera jerked his thumb at Yamamoto's basket. "You're buy kids' stuff! Now that is funny! I'm buying normal stuff! You got a kid somewhere? Is he a danger to the tenth?"

Yamamoto was laughing even more now. "Nah." He said, sucking in a deep breath, mirth still glowing in his brown eyes. "I just use the mild stuff. The stronger ones sorta itches."

Gokudera felt like something heavy just landed on his head. "_Oh_." He recovered immediately. "That's because _you're_ strange. Hnnn." He started grumbling about teenagers being complete wusses and and sissies that they had to use baby-stuff.

"Mmmmm, yeah, the boys on the team used to think that." He laughed a bit more. "They even like playing with the powder."

"_Why_ do you _need_ powder anyway?"

"Prickly heat." He lifted the small plastic container of baby powder and tapped at the printed label. "It keeps the itchy patches I get on my back after a long day's practice. Sun and all."

Again, Gokudera looked stunned. Perhaps it was the fact that Yamamoto was always going to be moron in his head that such things didn't really occur to him. "Oh." He managed to say lamely. Nice, Gokudera. Some hitman you are. Didn't even know the basics about your own Family.

And Yamamoto was still smiling. "I'm going to head out now, but I'm kinda' starving. Come with me. Dad has this new sushi recipe he wants to me to try. It's on me." Yamamoto tilted his head to the cashier rows and side stepped around Gokudera's still gaping person.

And in that second, just as Yamamoto breezed past, Gokudera caught the smell of baby soap and shampoo, a scent so mild and almost so pure that he actually felt himself inhale a little deeper.

Somewhere in his mind, he mused that it suited the idiot perfectly.

"Ehh, Gokudera, coming or not?" Yamamoto called out, looking utterly silly from where he was standing at the cashier.

Gokudera found it utterly strange that he wasn't protesting as he moved towards where Yamamoto was standing, the mild yet strangely alluring scent still clouding his senses.

Somehow, he _didn't_ really mind walking right next to Yamamoto as they made their way towards the Takeshi household.

FIN

Uh, yeah. I remember I was watching a perfume ad when I started this fic mooooonths ago.

Tee hee.


End file.
